The Race

It was an impulse really. I did it without thinking. The good folks at the Wild Dunes resort here decided to sponsor a 5k run, on the beach. They called it the “Tortoise and the Hare Beach Run.” We had just returned from Colorado where we skied for the first time in 13 years, and, frankly, my legs felt like lead. And, to be honest, in my more than 30 years of running, I had only participated in two previous races and they were more than 20 years ago. I think maybe deep down I thought that among the likely crowd for this one, I could do pretty well since I had been running almost daily for weeks. So, I signed up.

I showed up at the appointed time and sneaked glances at my competition. I was not encouraged. While there were a few souls appearing to be above the age of 40, most were in their early 20s. Jackrabbits, all of them. I was easily the oldest entrant. Certainly, no one else was sporting a white beard. Still, I thought I might do respectably. Lest anyone but the most oblivious think this was an event on a par with the New York Marathon, I could detect several distinguishing features. First, there were about 35 of us, not 35,000. Second, there were no crowds lining the course, although I can tell you there were many mosquitoes and sand fleas. Third, I don’t think you’re apt to see a human-sized tortoise and hare in full costume at the New York event. And, lastly, while we would not be touching down in all five NYC boroughs, we would be asked to run up the beach to a marker near the 18th hole and return to the start.

When the call of “Go!” came forth, I realized that one of the jackrabbits was already a hundred yards down the course before I had even turned on my ipod. Very humbling. But, I gathered myself to get into the fray and found myself, if not near the front of the pack, at least within hailing distance of it. Well, sort of. I realized my pace was a good bit faster than I would normally indulge in, but, after all, this was a race, not a jog. I got into my rhythm and tuned almost everything out except my music and the stares, some admiring, some quizzical, of the folks who had come down to the beach for an early morning stroll.

As I turned it on for the sprint to the finish line, I realized there was no one around me. Most of the jackrabbits had already finished and the rest of the field had slowed under the obviously torrid pace I had set for the them. At the finish line, there was one guy -- the one in the hare outfit -- who was there to give me a high five as I crossed the line. No cheering crowds, no bands playing. No champagne. Silence. I’m thinking to myself, why did I do this? I could have slept in and gone for a run later (indeed, without paying for the privilege).

I grabbed a couple of glasses of water and my race t-shirt and headed home. As I was leaving the area, I heard someone call out my name. I turned around. It was the hare. In his hand, he had an envelope which he handed to me. Apparently, the youthful winner had no sooner crossed the finish line than he had raced himself right off the beach and into a waiting car that would carry him and his family away from the resort and to, presumably, home. The race organizers decided that the award for the first place finisher -- a free massage at the spa -- should go to me! I didn’t ask why. But, it was hard to stop laughing. And, sure enough, when I opened the gift certificate, it said “to the top male runner.” I decided to aggressively delude myself into thinking how that might be the case.

Please tell me they didn’t give it to me out of pity.